


With the Aid of Modern Technology

by ChaosRocket, sitabethel



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-07 17:38:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14086128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaosRocket/pseuds/ChaosRocket, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sitabethel/pseuds/sitabethel
Summary: There are some things about the modern world that Bakura enjoys, and other things he doesn’t.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is Froyo's birthday prompt (from October 2016, omg I'm so sorry I'm so behind on these!) The prompt was for a Thiefshipping fic with them going out for Frozen Yogurt.
> 
> Chaos Rocket was cool enough to write this with me! Hope everyone enjoys! (And happy super late birthday, Froyo).

Malik walked into the apartment and shivered. He rubbed the gooseflesh off of his arms as he checked the thermostat. He frowned at the 60 on the digital readout and set it for 68 instead. He turned around to find the resurrected thief sitting in Malik’s favorite chair with a fan almost pressed against his face.

Bakura squinted his eyes against the blowing air, his white hair whipping behind him like a blizzard. A fuzzy throw encircled his shoulders like a cape, but otherwise he only wore a dark purple shenti. Bakura had a popsicle shoved into his mouth, and Malik raised an eyebrow at the absentminded yet suggestive way Bakura kept sliding it in and out. His opal-colored eyes brightened when he noticed Malik. He pulled the popsicle away so he could speak, but the dark red color of fruit punch remained on his lips.

“Hey, Malik. Ever notice that you sound funny when you sing into a fan? _Oooooooooooh_ —”

“Of course I haven’t noticed. What sort of idiot would shove their face into a fan and make noises? And why is the air set so low? It’s freezing in here.”

“What kind of idiot goes outside when it’s this hot?”

“Seriously, you lived in a desert. I’m sure you can handle room temperature.”

“Fuck the desert. I’m eating dessert.” Bakura lapped at his popsicle again. “I always hated the heat. I used to connect a tarp to a ruined wall of my old hut and lie there all afternoon praying for a breeze. The heat would make me sick, and I’d sleep like shit, and there was sand everywhere—”

“Alright, alright. I get it.” Malik pulled the fan a few feet away from Bakura so he could straddle Bakura’s lap. He did understand. It hadn’t been as hot underground, but Malik still loved living with electric lights, and plumbing, and Amazon.com. Malik licked his lips. “So? You going to share that?”

Bakura pushed the popsicle as deep into his mouth as he could and shook his head no. Malik shivered, and although it was from the chill in the room, the way Bakura could make a popsicle disappear didn’t help matters. Malik lidded his eyes and parted his lips, leaning in a few centimeters closer. Bakura tried to grin, but the popsicle kept his lips from being fully stretched. He sealed his mouth around the pop and pulled it out with a slow, exaggerated movement, smacking his lips at the end.

Malik waited, knowing he would get his way as soon as Bakura tired of his own defiant act. Bakura teased the side of the popsicle with his mouth, keeping his gaze locked on Malik’s. He flicked at the tip with his tongue. After a moment of taunting Malik, he tilted the stick, offering Malik a lick. Malik leaned in further, but ignored the popsicle in favor of licking Bakura’s ice-cold, tropical-punch-tinted lips. He managed to extort a quiet whimper from Bakura as he sucked on Bakura’s bottom lip. Malik stole the popsicle from Bakura’s fingers and gave it a broad, deliberate lick. Bakura’s eyes unfocused as he watched. Malik sucked on the popsicle’s end for a moment, drawing across Bakura’s lips with the popsicle before leaning in and licking his mouth clean.

“Here.” Malik crammed what was left of the popsicle back into Bakura’s mouth. “I’m done with you.”

Bakura gave Malik an indifferent snort before moving the fan close again.

“Where are your glasses?”

“Damn, I forgot.” Bakura jumped up and ran to the bedroom. He returned with a pair of black, rectangular frames.

“Now you look like the nerd you are.” Malik smiled, not admitting that Bakura looked pretty damn cute in them.

Bakura stuck out a red-tinted tongue. “Laugh all you want, but these are amazing. It would have been so much easier to avoid trap wires and weighted tiles if I could see this well back when I was robbing tombs.”

“And now you use them to play video games.”

“Well? Take me to a tomb and I’ll rob it for you.” Bakura shot Malik with his finger. “You’d look ravishing covered in the Pharaoh’s gold.”

“Yes. I know I would.” Malik winked, going into the kitchen and grabbing two bottles of water for himself and Bakura. He shook his head when he saw Bakura, without his blanket, sitting in a beanbag chair in front of the TV. “At least you wear your glasses. Now if I could just get you into some real clothes.”

“I’m wearing plenty. You should be thanking me. There are people on the internet who would pay good money to see me walking around in nothing but this all day long.”

“Well, let’s set up a live stream and make back some of the money you’ve cost me in the electricity bill.”

“It’d be pretty easy to set up.” Bakura took the water and gulped it down all at once.

“Calm down. You know there’s an entire case in the kitchen, right?”

“Can’t help it. It _tastes good_.” Bakura pushed himself up and fetched a second bottle, sipping it instead of guzzling.

Malik sat on the couch, facing the TV but staring at the way Bakura’s body shifted as he walked back to his bean bag chair. He really didn’t mind Bakura in the shenti—except when they had company and he _still wouldn’t put on clothes_. At least, Malik noted, Bakura had thrown away his popsicle stick. It had been a struggle to get him not to toss trash on the floor, and that wasn’t because of his past life—Bakura was just a lazy asshole.

“You like what you see, don’t you?” Bakura grinned.

“Hmmm,” Malik hummed to avoid answering. “You know you’re going to have to dress like an adult tomorrow when we go to the doctor for your check up.”

“I don’t wanna.” Bakura scowled, dropping into his bean bag and crossing his legs even as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Malik wasn’t sure if he meant he didn’t want to wear clothes, or if he didn’t want to go altogether, but assumed both. “Too bad.”

“Why are you always dragging me to these stupid places? Waiting rooms are more boring that being stuck in the Ring.”

“You bitched when we got your eye exam, too, but once you got your glasses you were fucking thrilled.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s because they’re useful.”

“Getting vaccinated will also be useful. I didn’t bring you back from the Shadow Realm two years ago to have you die of smallpox. I gave you a couple years to adjust, you but _promised_ you’d let me take you to the doctor once you got used to being in your own body again.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. I just…hate things I’ve never done before.” Bakura fidgeted with the seam of his beanbag chair.

Malik sighed. It was rare that Bakura ever said what he was actually thinking, especially if that involved feelings of vulnerability. Malik stood up and plopped down on the oversized bean bag beside Bakura. He flung his arms around Bakura’s neck and pulled them close enough for their noses to touch for a moment.

“Look, if you put on a shirt, and keep the bitching to a minimum, we’ll stop for frozen yogurt on the way back and then once we get home you can order that game on Steam you’ve been rambling about.”

“How much is minimum bitching?” Bakura asked, pretending to consider the deal.

“Only three instances of bitching.”

“I don’t know if the new Mortal Kombat is worth only getting to complain three times.”

“I’m not negotiating. Accept my proposal or I’ll just drag you kicking and screaming to the doctor and leave you there by yourself.”

“You wouldn’t.” Bakura snorted.

Malik lay his head on Bakura’s chest as they both settled into the beanbag. “No, I wouldn’t. Rishid stayed with me during my first check up. Good thing, too. I almost punched the doctor when he tried to stick that needle into my skin. Thank the gods my alter ego hasn’t come back since I banished him or that doctor’s office would have turned into a morgue.”

“Is it that bad?” Bakura sounded calm, but his hold on Malik grew the slightest bit tighter as he asked the question.

“No,” Malik answered, then answered with far more honestly than he usually would. “But I was scared.”

Bakura grunted and then the room grew silent. Malik sat up, bopping Bakura’s nose. “Hey, make popcorn and I’ll pick out a movie.”

A grin Malik was sure Bakura couldn’t control lit up his face as he dashed into the kitchen. Once Malik had set up the movie, he wandered towards the kitchen. He was greeted with the sight of Bakura hunched over by the counter, staring at the microwave in fascination as the bag of popcorn rotated inside it. Bakura was so absorbed with his vigil over the machine that he didn’t even seem to hear Malik sneak up.

“Will you never tire of that?” Malik asked, leaning against the door frame and trying to hide his smile.

Bakura didn’t even look up. “It’s fucking amazing! You can cook without fire! And it’s done in a couple of minutes!”

Malik chuckled as he reached into the cabinet for a bowl. He knew as soon as the microwave finished its cook cycle and shut off, Bakura would lose interest in the device and wander off, and he would get stuck finishing the preparation of the popcorn himself.

Sure enough, moments after the microwave’s beep sounded, Bakura turned and started rooting through the refrigerator. Malik didn’t bother to comment, and took it upon himself to remove the popcorn from its bag and dump it into the bowl. When he finished and turned back to Bakura, he saw him rubbing a can of soda against his cheek and sighing in pleasure.

“I wanted a fizzy drink,” Bakura said when he saw Malik staring at him with amusement. “It’s mind blowing how you can just keep food and drink cold. I used to have to just eat everything before it went bad, and nothing was ever cool.”

“Yeah, I get it. You know that’s why I’m a vegetarian,” Malik said as he got out the salt and sprinkled just a bit into their bowl of popcorn. “Nothing but that over-salted and dried out meat when I was kid. I couldn’t stand it.”

Bakura laughed. “I’ll never forget the first time you tried real meat. I’ve never seen anyone barf so much.”

“Shut up,” Malik retorted. “That’s what happens when you don’t eat meat for your entire life and your body isn’t accustomed to it.”

“Might not have happened if you hadn’t shoveled so much into your face at one time like a moron.” Bakura smirked and dodged a playful punch as he headed back to the living room.

“You’re one to talk!” Malik called after him. Though Malik had to privately admit that maybe he _had_ overdone it when he’d realized how good meat could taste when it was fresh. Still, the vomiting incident had put him off of meat permanently.

Malik followed Bakura into the living room and joined him in the bean bag chair he’d plopped onto again, setting the bowl of popcorn in his own lap.

“What are we watching?” Bakura used the excuse of leaning over to grab a handful of popcorn from the bowl to curl a bit closer to Malik.

“Final Destination 3,” Malik said as he pressed play on the remote.

“Nice,” Bakura said, and then was silent as he was momentarily entranced by the colorful images on the screen.

But several minutes later, Bakura was the one to speak up again. “I want to go on a roller coaster. You should take me to an amusement park.”

“ _That’s_ what you got out of watching a bunch of people die horribly in a gruesome roller coaster disaster?”

“But the rollercoaster looked like fun! Even more fun than your motorcycle, I’ll bet.”

Malik glared at him. “It would not be. Don’t insult Death like that.”

“Yeah, see, you named your motorcycle Death and you’re worrying about danger? Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? Anyways, it’s just a movie. Accidents like that almost never happen in real life, I’ll bet. What, are you scared?”

“I’m not scared because of the movie. I’m just saying there’s no way a roller coaster is more fun than my motorcycle!”

“I dunno, after we watched Final Destination 2, I noticed you always changed lanes when we were behind one of those logging trucks.”

Malik rolled his eyes. “That’s called common sense.”

Bakura suddenly lunged across Malik’s lap, almost spilling their popcorn as he reached for the phone sitting on the table next to them. “Here, I’ll find out. This little thing has all the information in the whole world on it.” A few minutes of Googling later and Bakura announced, “Yeah, see. It’s actually way safer than your motorcycle. Way safer than a car, even.”

“I know, Bakura. I’m not worried about it.” Malik balanced the bowl in his lap while trying to nudge Bakura back into his own spot.

Instead of moving over, Bakura rolled onto his back so he was looking up at Malik and gave him an exaggerated, saccharine look. “Alright, alright, would it help if I apologized to Death? You know the reason I think rollercoasters look fun is because I enjoy being on your motorcycle so much. It’s like we’re flying.”

Malik couldn’t help smiling as he remembered the way Bakura had reacted the first time he’d taken him out on the back of his motorcycle, laughing and whooping and yelling for him to go faster. Afterwards, he’d raved about how much better it was than riding a horse. “Fine, we can think about it. Maybe later this summer. I’ve never been to an amusement park before either, and I guess it does look like it could be fun.”

“Yes!” Bakura pumped his fist and finally sat back up, settling next to Malik on the bean bag again.

Bakura quieted after that, and the popcorn bowl steadily grew emptier as the movie played on. When it was over, Malik was stuck throwing Bakura’s empty soda can away as Bakura went off to wash the salt and butter off his hands—even though he’d sucked pretty much every bit of it off his fingers already.

Malik could hear that, as usual, Bakura was running the tap for longer than he really needed to. Bakura still couldn’t quite get over running water. Malik had to remind himself that Bakura had only been back for a couple of years, whereas he himself had been out of the tomb for much longer. He’d been pretty amazed by the modern world, himself, when everything was new to him. Of course, Bakura had had some experiences with modern technology when in Ryou’s body, but it wasn’t really the same thing. Ryou was the one who had taken care of things like eating and bathing, and Bakura had been too focused on his vengeance to enjoy much of anything, not to mention that lacking his own body had made him disconnected from physical experiences.

Malik had to admit, if only to himself, that Bakura’s childlike wonder over mundane things always made him want to smile. So he supposed it wouldn’t hurt him to indulge it sometimes, even if it did run up his utility bills.

He rinsed his own hands and then walked to the bathroom, coming up behind Bakura and winding his arms around him as he reached around him to turn off the faucet. He put his lips against Bakura’s throat. “You know, if you want to play in the water so much, it’d be a better use of it if we just got in the shower.”

Bakura leaned back into Malik’s embrace. “Mm, you don’t have to convince me.”

With that, Malik shed his clothes, while Bakura simply dropped his shenti, then removed his glasses and set them on the counter. As soon as the water heated up, the two got into the shower, one after the other.

Malik quickly wet his hair before Bakura could shove him out of the way to hog the spray to himself. Sure enough, once Bakura got in, he pushed Malik aside and stood directly under the shower head. Malik rolled his eyes, but stepped out of the way, content enough to see Bakura's jubilation at what he saw as a warm, indoor rain storm. Malik grabbed one of the shampoo bottles and dumped some of the shampoo onto his head, working it through his hair as he watched Bakura play in the water like a kid, cupping his hands until they were filled and then throwing the water on either himself or Malik.

Malik proceeded to wash his body as Bakura reached up to grab the shower head and direct it towards his own face, luxuriating in the feeling of the hot water on his skin.

A few minutes later Malik stood, soapy and shivering, finally having had enough. “I need to rinse. Move.”

Bakura pouted but moved out of the way, letting Malik under the spray to wash the soap off of his body. Malik closed his eyes, tilting his head back under the water and scrubbing his fingers through his hair, rinsing out the suds.

Eyes still closed, he felt Bakura's hands on his chest, his fingers tracing the curves of his muscles and then trailing down to his stomach. But it didn't last long before Bakura was crowding in next to him, trying to get back under the warm water.

Malik sighed and grabbed Bakura by the waist, spinning him around so Malik was facing his back. “You haven't even started washing. You do realize showering actually has a purpose, right? Other than playing in the water?”

Bakura smirked and leaned back against Malik's chest. “I figured if I waited long enough, you'd do it for me.”

Malik smiled. “Alright, alright. Just give me a minute.” Malik spun them around together so their positions were switched and Malik was out of the spray, then reached into the shower caddy to get his conditioner. He had to push aside Bakura’s hoard of shampoo, conditioner, and shower gel, but once he found it, he poured some into his hands and worked it through his locks. “I guess I can do you while this sets.”

He picked up the first bottle shampoo again—there were three damn bottles because Bakura kept asking to try new kinds—and squeezed some onto Bakura's head. In his original body, Bakura was about a head shorter than Malik, which made washing his hair an easy task, Bakura's stature putting him in just the right position for Malik to reach his head. Malik took his time to scrub the shampoo through Bakura's white mess of hair, then massaged and scratched his scalp until Bakura hummed in satisfaction. Once finished, he pushed Bakura's head underneath the shower’s spray, rinsing until the bubbles were gone.

Then Malik reached for the bar of soap again and lathered his hands. He started at Bakura's shoulders, kneading into his muscles as he spread the soap over his skin, enjoying Bakura's groans of contentment. He worked his way down his back and along his arms, then turned Bakura around again and started on his chest and stomach. His hands travelled down, but skipped over Bakura's hardening cock as he bent to move down to his legs, earning a little sound of protest from Bakura.

Malik stood again, and encircled Bakura's waist with his arms, pulling him near so their bodies were pressed together. Bakura shifted against him, beginning to rock a little against Malik. Malik could feel Bakura's erection stiffening further, and his own cock began to grow hard as he let a hand fall to Bakura's ass. He massaged the cheeks for a few moments, then slid his soapy hand between them. When his slippery fingers skated over Bakura's entrance, Bakura immediately tried to push back onto them, but Malik drew his hand away.

“No, Bakura. You know how impossible it is to fuck in the shower—”

“Tease,” Bakura scoffed, reaching behind himself to grab onto Malik's wrist and shove his hand back where he wanted it.

Malik let him, but he held on tighter to Bakura's waist so he couldn't shove back onto his fingers as he resumed washing the area.

“Seriously, Bakura. There's no way to get into a good position, the walls and floor are hard and uncomfortable, and the water washes all the lube away, and we don't even have any lube in here anyways, and I'm sick of you tracking water all over when you realize you forgot something and jump out to—”

“We can just use soap,” Bakura cut him off again, his voice tight as he strained against the grip around his waist, trying to press back every time Malik's fingers got near his hole.

“It's not good for you to have soap inside you, and it doesn't work very well anyways.” Before Bakura could protest again, Malik leaned down to press a long kiss to his lips. Malik held him more firmly, unable to resist letting one slick finger slowly circle over the sensitive skin of Bakura's entrance, causing Bakura to shiver and let out a small whine.

Malik stroked around the outside of his hole for a few more minutes, holding him fast as he shuddered and tried to buck, until Bakura buried his face in Malik's shoulder and whimpered.

“If you don't make a scene at the doctor's tomorrow, I'll fuck you when we get home from the yogurt place. Deal?”

“Yes, yes,” Bakura said, too turned on and desperate to argue.

“Don't worry. I'll make sure you're happy by the time we're done here.” With that, Malik let go of Bakura and pushed him backwards, suddenly dropping to his knees and taking Bakura's already-leaking cock all the way into his mouth before Bakura could process what was happening. Bakura let out a loud moan of surprise and pleasure, and Malik began to bob his head.

He honestly found it annoying to do this in the shower. The floor was hard and he knew his knees would end up bruised, and he hated how the water splashed over his face and got into his eyes and his nose and made it hard to breathe with a dick in his mouth. But he knew Bakura liked it, liked being pleasured while the warm water cascaded over his body and the steam rose up around them, so he went on, sucking and licking and swirling his tongue as he slid one hand along Bakura's inner thighs and used the other to cup his balls.

Luckily for Malik, Bakura didn't take very long. A few minutes of swaying his hips and panting, and then with a final thrust he grabbed the back of Malik's head and came down his throat with a cry.

Malik stood up, taking in the sight of Bakura leaning against the wall, muscles weak and breath still hitching, his cheeks colored from arousal and heat.

Bakura collected himself after a few moments, and then pulled Malik to him again, a hand reaching between his legs.

“After we get out, yeah?” Malik said. “The water’s starting to get cold.”

Bakura nodded, and Malik quickly rinsed the conditioner out of his hair as Bakura swiped some soap over the places on his body Malik hadn't gotten to, and then they jumped out of the shower and grabbed their towels, hurrying to dry themselves so they could race to the bedroom.

Malik lay back on their bed, watching as Bakura crawled over him. Bakura leaned down to give him a slow, deep kiss, then pulled back, proceeding to dot little kisses down his chest and stomach until he reached Malik's still-hard cock.

He teased with his tongue for a bit, holding down Malik's hips as he licked the skin and lapped at the tip instead of taking it into his mouth, giving Malik repayment for what he'd done to him earlier. But finally he wrapped his lips around the head and started slowly moving his mouth over Malik's erection, gradually speeding up until Malik was moaning and calling out Bakura's name.

Malik unthinkingly reached for something to grip onto, and Bakura extended his hand, grabbing Malik's palm in his and squeezing as his other hand left Malik's hip to stroke at the base of his cock.

Bakura's wet mouth slid around Malik's cock faster and faster, until finally Malik's body stiffened, his muscles seizing as he came, yelling Bakura's name one more time.

Bakura swallowed and sat up, then immediately collapsed down beside Malik. Malik let out a happy sigh and pulled him close. They stayed like that, too relaxed and satiated to move. 


	2. Chapter 2

Bakura’s anger was like a tide. Sometimes it would flood the shores of Bakura’s mind and he’d drown in the dark, murky feelings, but other times it would recede into the back of his subconscious and nicer thoughts would glitter like shells catching the sunlight, although they were half-buried in sand. Beds were one of those seashells. The air conditioner kept the room pleasant and cool, and the thick goose down comforter was tucked up to Bakura’s chin. He sighed, waking up comfortable instead of feverishly hot, or shivering cold, or aching from the ground, or with a scorpion tickling his calf. There was a slight brush against his calf, but it was Malik’s toe and Bakura welcomed that sensation. Bakura rolled onto his side and cupped Malik closer to his chest, kissing the wing-shaped scars stretched across his shoulder blades.

“That’s nice,” Malik moaned. “You still have to get up and get ready to go to the doctor.”

“Couldn’t we just order delivery and stay in bed all day?”

“Not after all the crumbs you left in bed last time.” Malik rolled to his other side in order to face Bakura, giving him a quick kiss and combing through his hair with his fingers.

Bakura couldn’t help but smile. If things like beds, microwaves, take out, and plumbing were all seashells, then Malik was the light striking them and making them glisten in the sand. He still didn’t see why he had to wear a shirt, however; modern clothes were stupid. Bakura growled as he pushed himself out of bed and walked to the closet. Several outfits hung on “his side,” although Malik shouldn't have bothered getting him so many clothes when he just swapped out the same three shentis all the time. Bakura tossed on a crimson tank top and a pair of jeans.

“You know, it’s so rare that you wear regular clothes, that when you do, you look really sexy in them.” Malik eyed Bakura from his spot beneath the covers.

“Do I?” Bakura leaned against the wall near the closet with his thumbs hitched in his pockets. He gave Malik a sleepy _come get me_ stare. Malik Ishtar was not one to back down from a challenge. He crawled out of bed, marched across the room, and pinned Bakura to the wall.

“Yeah, you really do.” Malik leaned in, dragging their lips together for a moment before pulling away with a sheepish grin. “Guess I should brush my teeth before sucking face, yeah?”

Bakura tangled his fingers in Malik’s hair and used his tongue to kiss him, showing how little he cared about a little morning mouth. Only for a moment though, and then he let Malik walk off to the bathroom as he followed him to fetch his glasses from the counter. When Malik was finished with the sink, Bakura took his spot so he could brush his teeth and put on deodorant. He met back up with Malik in the kitchen.

Bakura grabbed the coffee beans and spooned enough into the coffee grinder for a pot. Once the grinder reduced the beans to fine ground, Bakura turned off the machine. He opened the lid, closed his eyes, and inhaled the rich, earthy scent of the freshly ground coffee.

“At least in the tombs we still had coffee,” Malik said from the stove as he heated up dal for their breakfast. “Had to use a press instead of a machine, though.”

“We didn’t have it when I was last alive.” Bakura sighed as he sucked in a last, deep breath before dumping the grounds into a coffee filter and filling the machine with water. Bakura watched the slow trickle both because he was impatient for a cup, and because he loved how the pot slowly filled like the bottom half of an hourglass counting the passage of time.

“Maybe I’ll get you a keurig.” Malik hummed.

“Sounds fancy. I want one.” Bakura poured himself and Malik both a cup.

“Do you even know what it is?”

“Nope, but I want it all the same.” Bakura slid Malik’s cup to his side of the table.

“You greedy bastard,” Malik swore with an affectionate expression. He gestured to the coffee. “Thanks.”

They ate, and Bakura checked the news on his cellphone, bitching about politics until Malik threatened to toss Bakura’s phone in the trash. Bakura dropped his phone on the table and helped Malik load the dishwasher. Malik laughed at him.

“I love how you’ll clean if it involves an appliance, even if you’re a slob otherwise.”

“Have you ever had to scrub flax cloth against a rock in a river?” Bakura snorted.

“Bakura, we have had this conversation eighty times over the last two years. That was Rishid’s job, but honestly? For a chance to go outside I would have washed the Pharaoh’s damn loincloth when I was little—washing machines are better, though. I’ll give you that.”

“It’s the only argument I get to win against you, so I bring it up every chance I get.”

“You’re like those old men that like to talk about how hard life was in the olden days.”

“I’m _exactly_ that.” Bakura snorted. “If you’re dragging me outside, we’re taking the bike, right?”

“The bike?” Malik teased. “Are you sure you don’t want to walk? It’s a beautiful day. We can take our time and enjoy the fresh air.”

“Fresh air will kill you.” Bakura scowled. “I want my air filtered and without allergens.”

“Gods, I’ve spoiled you to the point of ruin. You won’t even breathe air on your own anymore.”

“Why should I have to breathe my own air like a peasant?”

“When you _can_ breathe. That’s one of the reasons I want you to get a check up.”

“Shut up.” Bakura scowled.

He hated when Malik brought up the times he lost his breath. He ate raw garlic every day just like the healer in his village told him to do before Kul Elna burned, but there were still times where his lungs felt too small for air. It mostly happened if he was outside running around, so he avoided the problem by staying inside and playing video games all day. Laziness suited Bakura, and he figured being short of breath was the gods’ way of agreeing.

But Malik wasn’t going to have it. Thus, after months of arguing, Bakura finally conceded to this bothersome doctor trip. At least they did take Death. Bakura never tired of the growl of the engine, roaring like an angry ka as it hurtled across the street faster than even the Pharaoh’s own horse. They reached the clinic in fifteen minutes even with the traffic lights slowing them down.

Malik dismounted and stretched, fixing his hair from the weight of the helmet. Bakura hated the outdoors, but he had to admit that Malik looked gorgeous with the sunlight in his hair. His perfect view of Malik was soon replaced, however, with the dull and tedious sight of a receptionist’s desk. The receptionist handed Bakura a clipboard full of papers he didn’t want to sign and told him to have a seat.

He shot Malik a venomous look as they settled onto an uncomfortable double seat. How the fuck was he supposed to fill out a medical history? Illnesses were caused by demons and evil spirits—according to priests and healers three thousand years ago. Of course Bakura had watched documentaries about viruses and bacteria since then, but he had no clue if anyone was prone to cancer in his family. He wanted to scrawl THEY DIED IN A FUCKING FIRE on his sheet and toss it at the desk while he went to go find one of those do-hickies the doctors wore around their necks on the TV shows. One of the only reasons Bakura agreed to the stupid trip was because he wanted to steal one and listen to Malik’s heartbeat with it.

“There, I think you should check that one.” Malik pointed at one of the boxes.

“Asthma?” Bakura read it out loud.

“You said your father lost his breath too, right? Asthma probably runs in your family.”

Bakura checked the box and filled out the basic info like his address and his ‘birthdate,’ which was the day Malik brought him back, for the sake of forms. Malik helped him try to answer what he couldn’t to the best of their socially inept abilities, and then Bakura shoved the clipboard back at the receptionist and grabbed his phone so he could play video games. It might not have been so bad if the seating hadn’t been more cramped than when he was stuck in the Ring.

“Quit. Squirming,” Malik hissed after 55 minutes of waiting.

“My ass can’t take this damn chair any longer.”

“Then stand.” Malik turned back to his Kindle.

“Why the hell is it taking so long?”

“It’s a doctor’s office. You see how many people are here.”

“Yeah, sick people. We’re more likely the get sick being here than at home.”

“Bakura, I swear to Sekhmet if you don’t—”

A nurse called Bakura Ishtar out of the waiting room, interrupting Malik. Bakura’s face always felt hot when he heard the name out loud. They hadn’t had much time to pick a name when Malik had forged fake identification for Bakura. Ryou’s last name was out for the obvious reasons, and Malik forbid Bakura from picking Thief-King as a legal last name (bastard), so it ended up being Ishtar by virtue of Malik writing down the name without Bakura’s permission.

The nurse had Bakura step on a scale, noting his weight and gesturing for him to sit down as she wrapped a cuff around his upper arm.

“It pinches,” Malik said, the nurse ignoring him as she started to take Bakura’s blood pressure.

Bakura opened his mouth to ask Malik to clarify, but then he felt the cuff around his arm grow tight. It wasn’t bad, but the longer it went on, the tighter his jaw clenched until he finally snapped at the nurse.

“How many time are you going to pump that damn—”

“All done.” She smiled at him. “Your blood pressure is a little high. Are you nervous?”

“No!” Bakura growled.

“It’s his first time going to a doctor in Japan.” Malik gave the nurse his best, disarming smile, which worked on just about everyone who wasn’t Bakura.

The nurse gave Bakura a sympathetic look and patted his shoulder before leading them into a small room and shutting the door. Bakura flipped off the door the second she was out of sight and then started rummaging around.

“Bakura, what are you doing now?”

“I want the do-hickey that they use to listen to your heart.”

“A…stethoscope? Why on earth?”

“I just want one.”

Malik smacked his forehead. “Why the hell would you want one?”

“Because.” Bakura crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. He wasn’t going to tell Malik, that was for damn sure.

“Then I’ll buy you one, but don’t steal it. There are probably cameras.” Malik rolled his eyes.

“There are cameras, but they won’t check the footage unless they notice something’s gone.”

“Something like a stethoscope?” Malik used his _don’t you start this fight with me or you’ll regret it_ tone as he asked the question.

“C’mon, Malik. Who’s going to miss it?” Bakura opened a cupboard and found three extras wrapped in sterile plastic. “Ah-ha!”

“Where are you going to put that to hide it?”

“In your motorcycle jacket.”

“Like hell.” Malik pulled the leather jacket slung in his lap closer to his body. “I’m not going down for your stupid whims.”

“Oh, quit being a boot-licking goody goody and steal this with me, Malik.”

“Look.” Malik clenched his teeth as he started to swipe on his phone. “Here, on Amazon. There are all kinds of these stupid things. This one even has rose gold tips. That’s way better than the generic one you’re holding, right?”

“Well…” Bakura eyed the image on the screen, lips pursed in consideration. “I guess. I just...wanted it tonight.”

“Pfffft, why, we were going to play doctor or something?” Malik laughed, hitting the overnight shipping option as a bribe to get Bakura to put down the plastic wrapped stethoscope in his hands.

“Shut up.” Bakura threw the device back under the cupboard and slammed the door shut. “It’s not like that.”

“Should I order a nurse costume?” Malik winked.

“I will fucking stab you, Malik.”

“Before or after you try to take my temperature?” Malik snickered.

The doctor walked in before Bakura could think of a comeback. He muttered an introduction while staring at his own clipboard, and Bakura was forced to sit up on the examining table.

Malik addressed the doctor. “My brother doesn't speak Japanese too well yet. He just immigrated here recently. It's probably better if you direct anything you have to say towards me, and I can answer any questions you have.”

Bakura bristled a little at the lie. Not the one about him not being any good at speaking Japanese—he was fine with that lie. He hated trying to make nice with strangers, and he didn't know much about what one was supposed to say or do when visiting a doctor anyways, so he was happy to let Malik handle it. Malik preferred it this way as well, so that Bakura didn't end up saying anything that would get them kicked out or make anyone suspicious.

But it annoyed him that Malik had to say they were brothers. He didn't know why. He understood the reason—it was the best explanation for why they had the same last name, as well as a good way to explain why Malik was at the doctor's appointment with him, essentially holding his hand, without triggering any prejudices. It was bad enough that they were foreigners in Japan without compounding the issue.

Still, though, he couldn't quite shake his irritation at hearing Malik say they were siblings. Maybe he just didn't like being compared to Baldy and the stuck up religious fanatic.

Bakura mostly tuned out while Malik talked to the doctor. Though he still didn't like being there, he trusted Malik wouldn't allow him to get any treatments that would hurt him, or that he didn't need, so he didn’t feel compelled to pay much attention to the conversation.

For the benefit of the doctor Malik went through the motions of asking Bakura, in Arabic, questions Bakura barely understood and that Malik must have already known the answers to anyways, so Bakura answered back in Old Egyptian with things like “fuck you” and “the doctor seems like an asshole,” but kept a totally straight face and answered in a cheery voice, doing his best Ryou impersonation.

Malik pretended not to notice Bakura's antics as he ‘translated’ for the doctor, but Bakura could see Malik's eyebrow twitching in annoyance, and he had to hold back a laugh.

The shots weren't too bad. He'd certainly been through much worse pain in his life, and Malik being there distracted him well enough anyways. Malik laid a comforting hand on the arm that wasn't getting the shots, and Bakura turned and said to him in Old Egyptian that he was having flashbacks to the last time he got stabbed in the arm at Malik's request.

“Just don't try to fucking lick the needle,” Malik responded in Old Egyptian. “And don't pass out.”

Bakura couldn't help laughing at that, and before he knew it, it was over and they were heading back to the front room so Malik could pay the remainder of the cost that wasn't covered by the national insurance.

When they got back out to the bike, Malik said, reverting to Japanese, “We need to go to the pharmacy now. I've got a prescription for an inhaler for you—it should help your breathing issues.”

Bakura swung onto the back of the bike. “Ugh, fine. I swear, this is taking forever.”

“I promise, you'll be glad when you have it,” Malik said. He strapped on his helmet, and then they were off.


	3. Chapter 3

Malik sighed as he pretended not to notice Bakura pocketing a candy bar and then, a moment later, a bottle of massage oil. He’d managed to keep his thief from stealing at the doctor’s office, so he knew trying to stop him now would only cause an argument big enough to get them both thrown out, and Malik didn’t want to find another pharmacy. Playing Namu all day long was wearing on his nerves, and he was ready to go home, plop down on the sofa, and snuggle with Bakura for the rest of the evening. Besides, Bakura often stole presents for Malik, and he suspected that the oil was for his back. It would have been easier to buy the damn oil, but Malik couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Bakura wanting to surprise him with it.

Malik stood in line while Bakura wandered around—most likely to steal something else. He appeared next to Malik as Malik was waiting for Bakura’s script. He wore a huge grin and held a bottle of shampoo.

“Bakura, we have three bottles of shampoo at the house.”

“But this kind smells really good.”

“You said that the last two times you talked me into buying you shampoo. Use up one of your opened bottles before we try another one.”

“But Malik.” Bakura gave Malik his best fake-ass Ryou puppy dog look. “The bottle is lavender with gold words. It’s your aesthetic.”

“Not having four bottles of shampoo in my shower is my real aesthetic—especially because we already have four bottles of conditioner.”

“Malik…” Bakura whispered in a suede, seductive voice. “Tsubaki shampoo. It smells like flowers.”

“Give me that.” Malik yanked the bottle out of Bakura’s hands and slammed it down on the counter to pay for it when he got Bakura’s inhaler. “You damn, greedy little pack rat. Do you have to hoard every toiletry you come across?”

“Yes.” Bakura’s grin widened because he had won the Battle of the Fourth Shampoo Bottle.

The pharmacist explained how to use the inhaler and then they left the store. Malik stashed the shampoo in the compartment under the seat of his bike and drove off. At the last red light, Bakura tapped his shoulder and Malik grinned. He knew that Bakura was reminding him to get frozen yogurt before they went home, and he hadn’t forgotten. He thought about driving past the stand to mess with Bakura, but decided against it. They had a deal, and Bakura hadn’t complained all that much, so Malik parked his bike and waited for Bakura to dismount before standing up and removing his own helmet.

They both power walked up to the stand and exchanged goofy grins with each other. Their favorite froyo booth was run by a robot. Several around town had robotic arms, but this one had a full body and danced before and after making each cup. It was crap compared to most Kaiba Corp technology, but every time they wanted frozen yogurt, they came back. Malik couldn’t resist the look the pure delight on Bakura’s face each time he watched it. Bakura leaned over the display panel, ass wiggling as he read all the choices.

“I’m sure you have them all memorized by now.” Malik laughed.

“You never know. I might be in the mood for something different today.”

“No, you’re not. You’re going to get chocolate everything.”

“You’re right.” Bakura winked and started to press buttons—chocolate and dark chocolate ice cream swirl with chocolate sauce and chocolate sprinkles. “Darker than the Shadow Realm.”

“Move over.” Malik bumped their shoulders together.

“Let me order it for you.”

“You don’t know what I want.”

“Yes, I do. You want cheesecake everything like you always get.”

“Okay, you’re right, but I want to push the buttons myself.” Malik stuck out his tongue and then chose cheesecake flavored ice cream with strawberries and cheesecake bites on top.

A little jingled played, like a bad gaming midi from the 8-bit days, and light flashed along the booth. The robot’s joints started to bend and spin as the robot came to life. It bowed and then started to sway side to side. Then it spun, eyes flashing as it moved to the song crackling through the speakers.

The robot grabbed one cup and then another. It used the ice cream machines to fill them both full and add the toppings. When it was done, it set both cups on a tray and they had to wait for the slow turn of the case before they could reach in and grab their treats. After another quick dance, the robot bowed a final time and powered down. Malik and Bakura both snickered as they walked behind the booth where tables and chairs sat under wide, red and white striped umbrellas. They passed the tables and leaned against their favorite tree in the park.

“That thing is so stupid,” Malik confessed.

“Don’t act like you’re too cool to watch a robot dance as it serves you ice cream.” Bakura stole a cheesecake bite from Malik’s cup.

“I didn’t say I didn’t love it. I said it was stupid. I love a lot of stupid things—like you.”

“Shut up.” Bakura snickered as he shoved a bite of frozen yogurt into Malik’s mouth.

Malik laughed, spoon still in his mouth, almost choking on it. He managed to catch his breath and lick Bakura’s spoon clean, before offering a bite of his own. They continued to trade every other bite, glancing at each other and laughing for no reason as they ate. They were still leaning against the trunk of their tree, the leaves dancing and creating little glowing circles on the ground.

“I’m so glad you’re back and here.” Malik sighed, stirring the rest of his dessert in the little cup. “I never managed to get out and do simple things like get frozen yogurt before, but something about dragging you along makes it fun.”

“How _sweet_ of you to say. Talk like that really _freezes_ me up.” Bakura winked, spoon crammed into his mouth.

“It’s not the puns, by the way, that make hanging out with you fun. If anything, those make me want to push you off a cliff.”

“I’ve already fallen for you, Malik, no need to push me.”

“Okay…maybe some of your puns are okay.” Malik bumped his shoulder against Bakura’s. “You damn nerd.”

Bakura gave Malik a victorious grin as he tossed his empty container into the nearby waste bin. Malik mimicked him and smirked as he stood closer to Bakura, bumping their noses together.

“That was your first treat, but didn’t I promise you a second one afterward?”

Bakura slid his fingers around Malik’s waist, squeezing him and holding him close. “Well, if memory serves, I believe you were supposed to fuck me and make all that tedious paper signing and waiting worth my time.”

“Oh yeah, I remember mentioning something like that.” Malik hummed in mock thought. “Yes, after we got home from the yogurt place we were going to have sex, but Bakura...there’s just one problem?”

Bakura raised an eyebrow. Malik continued to smirk as he took a step back, breaking their embrace. He licked his lips, before leaning teasingly close again and whispering.

“You have to catch me first.”

“What?” Bakura’s brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before Malik took off across the park, running and laughing. “Oh come on! You jerk!” Bakura chased after him.

Bakura pumped his arms and legs as fast as he could to catch up to Malik. Malik circled around, switching up his direction to make himself harder to catch. It was hot outside, and the chill of the frozen yogurt was already a coveted memory in Bakura’s thoughts as his shirt started to stick to him as he ran. The only thing that made the hassle worth it was Malik.

The gold flashed around his throat and wrists as he zig-zagged through the grass. His laughter rose up into the sky, a joyous anthem that lured Bakura closer like a siren’s song. Bakura sprang forward, diving towards Malik and tackling him onto the grass. They rolled together, both caught up in laughter as they landed. Malik managed to fling himself on to Bakura and press Bakura’s wrists into the grass.

“Fuck! I lost my glasses!” Bakura laughed, although he really did need them.

“They’re by your head. Don’t worry.” Malik brushed their noses together.

Their eyes caught and their laughter stopped. Malik’s gaze flicked up, scanning the area. Quicker than the slash of a knife, Malik dipped down and plucked a kiss from Bakura’s mouth before releasing him and standing up to brush grass off of his clothes.

“Let’s go back. I got you to do something outside today and I’m feeling really accomplished.”

Bakura sat up, scrubbing grass out of his bat wings and searching for his glasses. His breath was a thin wheeze— _exactly why he never ran_ —but Bakura pushed through the discomfort as he always had. If he could dodge traps in a tomb, fight guards, and then run off into the night to escape, a five minute chase through the park should be nothing for the King of Thieves.

Perhaps it was the grass, stretched out like an endless green sea, the color of emeralds, or poison, that made this time worse, but as he walked back, his breath grew thinner, and thinner, until there didn’t seem to be any air left in the world. Bakura had to stop and press a hand against _their yogurt tree_ where they always ate, wheezing as he stood bent forward with his other hand braced against his knee.

“Bakura? Bakura, damn, I’m sorry. I didn’t think we did enough—wait just a second!” Malik sprinted back to the bike and threw open the compartment where they stashed Bakura’s shampoo and inhaler. He returned a moment later with the funny-shaped container in his hand. “Remember what the pharmacist said?”

Malik pulled off the cap, shook it, and sprayed it into the air to get it ready. After repeating the action three more times, he placed it in Bakura’s mouth. Bakura exhaled and fumbled for the inhaler so he could press it down as he breathed in again. Even with the applicator below his tongue, there was a funny, fake taste in his mouth, but Bakura didn’t care. He held his breath for a second, and panic coursed through him as he did so. He already couldn’t breathe, so holding his breath when he wanted to gasp was torture. After finally letting out his held breath he did it one more time, holding the medicine into his lungs before exhaling.

Instinct took over and his next breath was quick and urgent and—

Better.

Bakura exhaled and breathed in again, more deeply. It felt like the tightness in his chest was easing up, and air could flow into his lungs again. It was hard to believe—that he was _breathing_ again, actually breathing and not gasping. He stood there, leaning with his back against the tree now, and simply…breathed.

“Bakura?” Malik was hunched over him, his face twisted with concern.

Bakura found his hand, lacing their fingers together and giving him a quick squeeze. “I’m okay.”

“Fucking gods.” Malik crushed Bakura’s fingers with his hold. “I kinda freaked out for a second there.”

“Told you fresh air is the worst. I belong inside on the couch.”

“No kidding, fuck.” Malik pressed their foreheads together, standing and breathing with Bakura as if it were their greatest achievement together. “Come on. Let’s get you home. I’m going to spoil you rotten. We’ll crank the air down, eat something inorganic, and then I’ll shag you so hard you’ll need the inhaler again.”

“Sounds like the perfect plan.” Bakura laughed, glad that he _could_ laugh, that he had enough breath to laugh. Medicine was fucking amazing!

They kept their hands locked as they walked back to the bike. Bakura knew he wasn’t supposed to wrap his arms around Malik’s waist while riding passenger, but he couldn’t help coiling around him for a moment as he spoke loud enough for them to hear through their helmets.

“You know what, Malik?”

“What’s that?”

“You really take my breath away.”

“Gods...fucking...dammit...Bakura! Forget everything I just said. You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“I think I can convince you to let me sleep with you tonight.”

“It’s going to take more than science and modern technology for that to happen,” Malik teased. “You’d better have some magic up your sleeve.”

He might not have had magic up his sleeve, but he did have a stolen bottle of massage oil up his pants leg, and Bakura figured that was good enough.

 

* * *

 

Bakura would have complained when he noticed Malik turning the bike down a street that was definitely in the exact opposite direction from their apartment, but he knew there was no way Malik would be able to hear him over the wind and through their helmets.

So he settled for poking Malik in the side.

Then he did it again, and again.

Finally Malik briefly took one hand off of the handlebars to swat Bakura’s fingers away. But Bakura was undeterred.

That is, until he noticed they were pulling into the parking lot of MOS Burger. He couldn’t help squirming in excitement.

Malik parked the bike and took off his helmet, then reached behind him to give Bakura’s hand a belated smack. “Asshole. Don’t poke me while I’m trying to drive. I should turn this bike around and go home.”

Bakura just gave him a wide smile. “We’re really getting fast food?”

Malik had to give him a lopsided smile in return. “Well, I did promise you something inorganic.”

“I love y—cheeseburgers!” Bakura exclaimed, and Malik chuckled as he dismounted the bike and strode inside, Bakura following.

Bakura fidgeted and hopped from one foot to the other as they waited in line. Finally, they reached the front. Bakura ordered a spicy cheeseburger with meat sauce, as well as a variety pack of fries and onion rings, which he figured Malik would partake in along with him.

Malik ordered a rice burger mixed veggie kimpira. MOS Burger really wasn’t his favorite, but the rice burgers were tolerable, and the way Bakura was grinning at him made it all worth it. He really tried not to indulge Bakura’s taste for junk food too often, wanting him to learn to eat some things that weren’t total garbage so he didn’t die of a heart attack ten years down the road, but he figured Bakura had earned it this time.

But before he knew it Bakura’s fingers were poking his side again.

“Melon soda,” Bakura chanted under his breath. “Melon soda.”

“That’s such a pain in the ass,” Malik argued.

“Melon soda,” Bakura repeated, giving him another poke.

Malik rolled his eyes. “Fine. Go get the thermos.”

Bakura gave a triumphant yell and ran out to the bike to retrieve the thermos from the compartment. Malik ordered two melon sodas, one for each of them. He figured there was no harm in indulging himself as well, as long as they were here.

It wasn’t long before the soda had been poured into the thermos, and all the food and drink had been stashed in the bike’s compartment and they were back on the road.

As soon as they got home, Bakura shed his pants and shirt, breathing a sigh of relief as the uncomfortable garments fell off his body. He went to go grab a shenti from their closet and put it on before they sat down to eat.

Malik ate more slowly than Bakura, who shoved his cheeseburger into his mouth at lightning speed, cramming the beef into his mouth and letting the meat sauce run down his face, only taking a moment to swipe his chin with a napkin before starting in on the onion rings.

“Hey, save some for me,” Malik said, a smile quirking his lips.

“If you want it, hurry up,” Bakura mumbled around a mouthful of cheese and meat.

Malik laughed and yanked the tray of fries and onion rings over to his side of their little table. Bakura reached out to yank it back, and quickly swallowed his huge bite of burger so he could shove a handful of fries into his mouth.

Malik pulled the tray back and managed to grab an onion ring before Bakura stole the tray from him again.

It went on like that until Malik was feeling full and tired of the game, so he excused himself, leaving the rest of the fries for Bakura. Bakura snatched at the fries greedily, not noticing Malik wandering over to the heap of clothing he’d carelessly left in the entryway when he’d undressed and discarded the garments.

Malik rummaged through Bakura’s discarded jeans until he found the massage oil he’d seen Bakura steal earlier at the drugstore. He kept glancing back to see if Bakura noticed what he was doing, but Bakura seemed to be too absorbed in their french fries.

So Malik walked back into the kitchen, the oil hidden behind his back, and he sneaked up behind Bakura. He knew Bakura must have heard him—the Thief King heard everything—but Bakura paid him no mind, too comfortable with Malik’s presence in his space and too busy finishing off the last of the fries to really notice what Malik was doing.

So Malik took his opportunity and uncapped the bottle of massage oil and dumped a few dollops down Bakura’s bare back.

Bakura yelped in surprise and twisted around in his seat to glare at Malik. “Hey! What the fuck was that?”

Malik just held up the bottle of massage oil, wiggling it between his fingers, and smirked.

Bakura did a double take. “Where the hell did you get that?”

“Your pants, idiot.”

“But—“

Malik just smiled as he cut him off. “Yeah, I know you got this for me. And I plan to reward you for that. But I told you I was going to spoil you. Go lie down on the bed and I’ll do you first. You can do me after, if you want.”

Bakura grumbled at being ordered around, but Malik could tell he was trying not to smile, and Bakura certainly had no argument against Malik’s offer. Bakura crammed the last of the fries into his mouth, downed the rest of his soda in one big gulp, and then got up to rinse the grease off of his hands before heading down the hall into the bedroom.

Malik stripped off his own clothes before following Bakura down the hallway. When he got to the bedroom, he found Bakura lying naked on his stomach, sprawled across the bed.

Malik climbed onto the bed to straddle him. He squirted more of the massage oil onto his hands, set the bottle on the nightstand and then began rubbing Bakura’s back.

Bakura’s back had always been fascinating to him—dark, flawless skin stretched over taut muscles, with no visible marks at all. He loved looking at it, and loved touching it even more.

Malik let his hands play over Bakura’s shoulders, then down his spine, and along his ribs, alternating between giving his skin soft, feather-light strokes and really rubbing the oil in, massaging the muscles until he felt Bakura relax completely underneath him.

Bakura sighed and flexed, hugging his pillow as Malik continued his ministrations.

Malik went on, making sure to rub the tension out of every muscle in Bakura’s body and savoring each inch of his skin as Bakura sighed out quiet, appreciative noises. Finally, Malik couldn’t wait anymore. He grabbed the bottle of massage oil from the table and drizzled the liquid down Bakura’s asscrack, following the trail with his finger, drawing his fingertip down between Bakura’s cheeks.

Bakura gasped and raised up, but Malik was ready for that, and sat down on the back of Bakura’s thighs to keep him still. Malik made a few more swipes with his finger, up and down, and then honed in on Bakura’s hole, letting his finger slide around it like it had the previous night in the shower, and Bakura let out a little cry of want.

Bakura kept trying to buck up, but Malik’s weight on his legs held him down. “Not yet,” Malik said, placing his free hand on the small of Bakura’s back to help hold him still. “This isn’t lube. It doesn’t go inside you.”

Bakura buried his face in the pillow to try to hide the soft whimpers that he couldn’t hold back.

Malik circled his slippery finger around Bakura’s rim, occasionally dipping just a millimeter of it inside and causing Bakura to jerk up and press against the weight of Malik’s body holding him down, making Bakura let out a groan of frustration each time he was unable to move enough to get Malik inside. Then Malik would go back to teasing the sensitive skin outside Bakura’s hole with light strokes.

Malik went on longer than he had the previous day in the shower, knowing he could tease Bakura more now, because this time he would actually give Bakura everything he wanted in the end.

Besides, he knew Bakura would end up enjoying it more if he were desperate by the time he finally got what he was begging for.

So he did go on until Bakura begged, until Bakura was shaking underneath him and pleading with him for more.

So finally he acquiesced, reaching over and sliding open the drawer in the nightstand and getting out their lube. He uncapped the tube and spread the slick liquid over his cock, which was already hardened from the sights and sounds of Bakura’s twitching body and flushed skin and whining voice.

He knew Bakura was already very ready and didn’t need any further preparation, so he lifted himself off of Bakura’s legs and said, “Bend your knees a little.”

Bakura did so without argument, leaving his torso flat against the bed but drawing his knees up just enough so that his ass was elevated.

Malik lay over top of him, so their bodies were pressed flush and close, and then he finally slid inside him, earning a low moan from Bakura.

Malik’s hand was still slippery with massage oil and lube and he wasted no time in sliding it underneath Bakura’s body, in the gap between his stomach and the mattress made due to his bent knees, and gripping his leaking cock.

Malik timed his thrusts with his strokes of Bakura’s erection, concentrating more on Bakura’s pleasure than his own, making sure to get just the right angle to hit that special spot inside Bakura and to use just the right pressure and speed as he stroked Bakura’s pulsing cock.

Bakura panted and groaned and pushed back, still begging Malik for more until Malik grabbed Bakura’s hair with his free hand and Bakura threw back his head, surrendering to Malik’s grip, and Malik pounded in harder and gave him a few more quick and firm strokes until Bakura came, spilling over Malik’s fist.

By then, Malik had been holding back himself for a while, so as he felt the spasms of Bakura’s orgasm and heard his moans of ecstasy, he let go and came himself, arms locked around Bakura’s waist and pressed as deeply as he could be inside of Bakura.

He kept stroking and rocking his hips until he felt Bakura go limp underneath him, and he was spent himself. Then he pulled out and rolled off to the side.

For only a second, Bakura looked at him with eyes that swam with contentment and something that almost looked like bliss, but then Bakura turned and reached out to grab the massage oil from the table by their bed where Malik had left it.

“Your turn,” Bakura said, a hint of mischief in his voice despite his tired eyes and shaky limbs.

Malik couldn’t seem to help rolling over onto his stomach so his back was exposed, but he looked at Bakura’s half-lidded, sleepy eyes and said, “You don’t have to if...you’re too tired…”

Malik was obviously tired himself, and Bakura gave him a soft smile as he poured the massage oil onto his hands and rubbed it into his palms.

“I always want to touch you,” Bakura said, and then immediately looked away, his face coloring further, his eyes shifting as if he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Malik saw and smiled to himself, enjoying the rare moment of vulnerability from his best friend, and then he pressed his face into the pillow so his gaze wouldn’t make Bakura feel even more awkward, and he made a little sound of encouragement, and before he knew it Bakura’s hands were on his back.

Malik moaned as Bakura’s fingers began to trace his scars, marveling at how easy and right it felt to let Bakura touch him there and sooth the old wounds, how a few years ago he would have said he’d never let anyone touch him like this, but now any time his scars were causing him pain, Bakura was the one he wanted to help him by rubbing his back and massaging in something moisturizing.

But there was no pain now. His body was still buzzing pleasantly with afterglow, and his scars had never hurt less.

Once Bakura had carefully drawn over each symbol on Malik’s back with his fingertips, Bakura’s hands began kneading into Malik’s muscles, massaging his back firmly.

Malik sighed in contentment and let himself get lost in Bakura’s touch, knowing he wouldn’t stop at his back, that Bakura’s hands would traverse every inch of his skin before he was through, and that as tired and satiated as they both were, they’d want each other again by the time Bakura was done.

 


	4. Chapter 4

It came the next day—the stethoscope gilded in rose gold. Bakura signed for it and tore open the box. Bakura examined the stethoscope, running his fingers up and down the rose gold fittings and enjoying the smooth touch of the gold beneath his fingertips. It _was_ prettier than the one he was going to steal, so he _supposed_ it was okay that Malik made him wait an entire day before he got to use it. With a grin on his face Bakura marched to the bedroom where Malik was smoothing down the comforter as he made the bed.

Bakura snorted. He’d always thought bed-making was a stupid, useless habit and he was about to show Malik exactly why—they were about to trash those crisp sheets and carefully laid out blankets, and all the pillows were going to end up in a heap on either side of the bed.

“It came in,” Bakura purred, giving Malik a lidded, seductive stare.

Malik turned around, looking at Bakura with the stethoscope around his neck and laughing.

“What’s so damn funny?”

“You really did want to play doctor? Like really? I thought you were joking, but I guess we could if it’s something you’re into.”

“That’s not what we’re doing at all!”

“Do I need to call you Doctor Ishtar? Am I your nurse or your patient?” Malik pressed himself close to Bakura’s chest and ran a finger down his bare skin. “The glasses are a nice touch, but you need more than a shenti if you really want to get into character.”

“I don’t want to play doctor!” Bakura grumbled as he shoved Malik down to their mattress, yanked off his shenti and glasses, and crawled on top of Malik.

He set the stethoscope down so he could hold Malik’s face and kiss him without smacking him in the face with the tip of the device. His tongue swirled its way into Malik’s mouth and he tugged at Malik’s shirt. Malik helped him pull it off, bucking his hips to unbutton his pants.

“Then why—move, I can’t strip with you weighing me down—why the stethoscope? You clearly intend you use it in bed.”

“I want to hear your heartbeat! There? Are you happy?” Bakura growled, his cheeks on fire.

“What?” Malik laughed, still not understanding.

“I want to hear your breath.” Bakura grabbed the device, toying with the gold again. “That’s your life. I want to hear your heartbeat because that’s your ib.”

“Oh…oh, Bakura.” Malik’s eyes brightened and his lips parted into a tender smile that twisted into a smirk as Malik flipped them and stole Bakura’s stethoscope. “Me first.”

“Hey, dammit, this was my idea!”

“Don’t worry, I always make sure you get your turn.” Malik winked.

Bakura didn’t want to admit it, but Malik looked cute with his golden hair falling to each side of his face as he leaned over with the stethoscope and placed the circular tip to Bakura’s chest. He didn’t want his heart to beat fast, did not want Malik to know just how fast it often pounded when Malik was nearby, but there was no hiding it as Malik’s smile returned the more he listened.

“This is actually pretty cool. One of your best plans yet.” Malik poked Bakura in the ribs and he squirmed, pretending like the gentle prod didn’t tickle and he was annoyed at Malik’s pestering instead.

“You’re such a pest.”

“Oh? Am I a pest? Well, if I’m so bad then I suppose I can keep this. I can’t imagine you’d want to listen to the ib of a pest.”

“Gimme.” Bakura reached out and pulled the fittings out of Malik’s ears.

Malik giggled and rolled onto his back, careful about how he landed. Malik opened his legs wide, creating an inviting V for Bakura to lie between as he leaned over Malik and pressed the stethoscope to Malik’s chest. Bakura felt his cheeks stretch and his nose crinkle as his face split into an enormous grin. The sound of Malik’s breath reminded him of the phantom waves people claimed to hear inside a conch shell. It was soothing to listen to, and something about it made Bakura hold his own breath, as if he didn’t need to breathe as long as Malik continued to do so. Malik’s heartbeat was a steady background in Bakura’s ears, and his eyes fluttered closed as he kissed Malik’s sternum.

“I wonder what would happen to your heartbeat if I did _this_.” Bakura angled his hips down and forward, grinding against Malik’s body.

“I don’t know.” Malik reached up, pulling a bottle of lube from beneath the pillows. “Let’s add this and find out?”

“Lube hidden under the pillow? Were you planning on un-making this bed so soon after you made it?”

“I know you see a made bed as a secret challenge, so I wanted to be prepared.”

Bakura grabbed the bottle still in Malik’s hand. He pulled Malik’s arm closer so he could ghost his lips across Malik’s knuckles and then down Malik’s wrist, lingering against his pulse point. Malik sucked in a deep breath. The sound of it rasped in Bakura’s ears through the stethoscope. Bakura flicked his tongue against Malik’s pulse for a moment before pulling the lube away from him and saturating their cocks with the silky, silicon gel that was much better than the flax or almond oil he’d had in Egypt.

Bakura moved the stethoscope around like he’d watched them do in the shows. Each time the pad settled against Malik’s chest, Bakura hitched his hips and slid his cock against Malik’s. Malik sucked in breath after breath from Bakura’s languid ministrations. His heartbeat thudded in Bakura’s ears. Bakura removed the ear fittings and slipped them into Malik’s ears.

“You’re getting quite worked up. Listen.”

Bakura slid against Malik faster. He wrapped his fist around their cocks and squeezed them together. They slid in and out of his hand in slick, fluid motions. Malik set the stethoscope aside and twisted his fingers through Bakura’s hair, pulling him down to Malik’s chest.

“You need technology? You can hear it like this.”

“Yes. I must be doing a good job.” Bakura nuzzled against Malik’s chest. He pulled back enough to keep sliding their cocks together.

Now Bakura was panting, puffing for each breath as his cock beaded up at the tip with precome.

“I need to sit up,” Malik whispered, signalling that his back was hurting from lying flat with Bakura’s weight on him for too long.

Bakura shifted so that Malik could sit up. He grabbed the lube, poured more onto Malik’s cock, and impaled himself as he sat in Malik’s lap.

“Bakura,” Malik moaned. His voice was husky with desire. He grabbed Bakura’s waist and guided him up and down on his thick, gleaming shaft.

Bakura wrapped his left arm around Malik’s neck, careful of his back. With his right hand he gripped himself again. The feeling of being stroked and Malik’s thickness inside him made Bakura toss his head back and groan. His eyelashes fluttered as he continued to rock, and stroke, and sigh in pleasure as he bobbed up and down on Malik’s dick.

“I’m close.” Bakura’s eyes stayed shut and he gasped through his mouth as he began to tremble.

“Wait.” Malik reached over and re-equipped the stethoscope. He held it to Bakura’s chest and used his other hand to help Bakura stroke himself.

“Malik!” Bakura whined.

His orgasm coursed through his body, wracking him with shudders. When it faded, Bakura could only curl against Malik’s chest, rocking lightly to keep the motions going between them, but too tired to properly ride him.

“That was fun to hear.” Malik laughed as he pressed against Bakura to encourage him to lie down. “But I think it might be more fun if you hear it for yourself.”

He slipped back into Bakura after they repositioned. Bakura stole the stethoscope again, fascinated at how loud Malik’s heart was as he rammed into Bakura’s body. Since he was now on his back, he didn’t mind shoving his hips up into the air, timing each pop of his body to rise up and meet Malik’s thrusts. He clenched his ass, hugging Malik’s cock with his body and making sure he was tight. His reward was an increase in the pounding in his ears.

“Ah! Ahh! _Ahhh_! Bakura!” Malik cried out in orgasm. He slowed down, stopped, and lowered himself onto Bakura’s chest.

“You’re right. Don’t really need this, as loud as your heart is pounding.” Bakura dropped the stethoscope to the floor so he could wrap his arms around Malik and hold him close. “It was still fun, listening to all that life course through you as you screamed out my name.”

“Don’t get egotistical about it. You called out my name, too.” Malik pressed his nose to Bakura’s, rubbing them together in an Egyptian kiss.

“I sure as hell did scream out your name. I was having a blast while I did it, too.”

“You’re impossible.” Malik kissed him.

Bakura combed Malik’s hair behind his ears so the loose strands would stop tickling his face. “Hey Malik?”

“What do you want _this_ time?”

“How about we take a shower?”

“Yes. Good. I like where this is going.”

“Then get on your motorcycle.”

“You still have my attention. You know I love riding on Death.”

“And get more frozen yogurt.”

“Bakura. Two days in a row?”

“I went to the doctor. He stabbed me in the arm with a needle. It was awful. I need ice cream to recover again.” Bakura mocked a pout.

“I don’t even show sympathy to people when they’re being sincere, let alone your fake-ass bad acting.” Malik punctuated the statement with a playful bite to Bakura’s collarbone. “We can’t just go out for dessert every night.”

“Why not? Who could physically stop us? No one from the Shadow Realm or the Great Fields will appear to punish us for our crimes. You could say that we’re...stone cold criminals?”

“Are you done being dramatic?” Malik asked.

“Guess you’re right. I shouldn’t be so dramatic—” Bakura held out a hand, as if blinded by a bright light. “Oh wait! Behold! ‘Tis The Pharaoh! He is silently judging you for adding cheesecake bites on top of your ice cream! Ishizu is beside him. Her arms are crossed and she’s frowning at those extra strawberries.”

“You _clearly_ don’t know how much Ishizu loves dessert.”

“Well then, since we have your sister’s blessing—shall we be on our way?”

Malik leaned closer, lips hovering over Bakura’s mouth. “Under one condition.”

“What’s that? More back rubs? I could massage every inch of you until you’re writhing and begging to be inside me.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, all that. That’s great. But what I really want…”

“Yeah?”

“What I really, _really_ want…” Malik paused again.

“Spit it out, Malik.”

“Is for you to put on real clothes.”

“Tyranny!”

“Those are my conditions. Take them or leave them.” Malik kissed his forehead and pushed himself up to go take a shower.

Bakura followed him to their bathroom. He crashed against the door frame as if he couldn’t carry all the burdens heaped on his shoulders (the burden of wearing shirts).

“Clothes, bah! I guess I have no choice. The things I do for love—and double chocolate frozen yogurt.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They lived happily ever after!
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Fanart based on this fic: 
> 
>  
> 
> [Bakura in Glasses ](http://chaosrocket.tumblr.com/post/172257876004/)by [Raven](http://dmbakura.tumblr.com/)


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